painted doors, and the variety of colourful awnings.
I spied a tall column with a figure at its very top, solitary at that great height. I read the name: Lord Nelson. Aye, I thought, that’s very like the English to put their hero on a huge height without the benefit of a ladder or even a skimpy rope so he could, of a misty day, fetch himself a nourishing pint!
I walked aimlessly, crossing street after street until I came across a fair building with grand pillars and grounds like a carpet around it. I read the sign in front: So this was the great Trinity College our Mr. O’Flaherty had told me about. It had been the All Hallows Monastery, before it had been snatched by Elizabeth. How welcome are Catholics here? I thought, my heart sore at our humiliation. Butanother thought struck me. In County Sligo where I was raised, I could name those who were not Catholics on my finger: the landlord’s agent and some of his henchmen. But here, in Dublin, there must reside such great numbers that could fill such a vast college as this. It stopped me short. I looked about me, at all the crowds that flowed past. I could not tell for certain between Catholic or otherwise. The thought also struck me: neither could they.
Nearby, I came across another mighty building. On its gate was a brass plate, shiny enough that I could see myself leaning forward: Bank of Ireland. So this was where they gather our monies before they take it all away.
People loitered before gleaming shop-windows, staring at lavish displays of merchandise, ladies’ dresses in many colours on shiny mannequins, large as folk. Men puffed cigars and pipes, with fine hats and thin canes, not the stout blackthorns of the rural counties. Every part of all the walls that was within reach was plastered with bills and notices. Such a strange world with so much to sell! I thought of my mother’s modest shop, its simple, almost severe, merchandise.
This Grafton Street was fairyland itself. There was a large sign, Jaeger, on a coloured glass above, and within the thick wide panes, jewels and dazzling silver. A little farther, on a sloping awning, simply the word Johnson proclaimed the name of another rich merchant. Fine carriages rolled by so silently that I marveled. Then I understood: Grafton Street was paved with blocks of pine! I thought of the sod thatches and the one-room cottages that dot our counties, whitewashed or weatherbeaten, floors packed with dirt, as were most homes and Mr. O’Flaherty’s school. And we Irish leave our footprints wherever we go, I thought wryly, for we live barefoot on dirt floors, and few can afford to lay boards upontheir floors. Here the roads—or at least one—might not be paved with gold, but it was paved with that precious wood itself, so no slush marred the dainty ladies who might, from the looks of some, not be as immaculate as their dresses.
There were more fat people here than I had seen from end to end in an entire lifetime in Sligo, toddling about, bellies like lambeg drums, bloated under fancy waistcoats. A fierce variety of moustaches were also to be seen, waxed, in many shades, coaxed up, combed or curled. No wonder, in this big whirling city, folks could so easily shake off such a matter as the Clontarf meeting, which had seemed so momentous to me. As I gawked at the fine shops, I felt broken into fragments. One part of me wanted to prise off pieces of flagstone and fling them into the grand shops full of dazzling goods and ladies and waistcoated men. Another wanted to own a fine shop—any shop—and count the money in the ringing till. Yet another piece of me wanted to sit down right there and weep after the great failure of Clontarf. But all the parts of me were footsore and wanted a drink. Even a tramp’s poteen would have been welcome, so bedraggled and low in spirit I felt, all alone in this billowing crowd.
Evening was descending and the crowds draining away, as if abandoning the city for the coming of night. I can
I spied a tall column with a figure at its very top, solitary at that great height. I read the name: Lord Nelson. Aye, I thought, that’s very like the English to put their hero on a huge height without the benefit of a ladder or even a skimpy rope so he could, of a misty day, fetch himself a nourishing pint!
I walked aimlessly, crossing street after street until I came across a fair building with grand pillars and grounds like a carpet around it. I read the sign in front: So this was the great Trinity College our Mr. O’Flaherty had told me about. It had been the All Hallows Monastery, before it had been snatched by Elizabeth. How welcome are Catholics here? I thought, my heart sore at our humiliation. Butanother thought struck me. In County Sligo where I was raised, I could name those who were not Catholics on my finger: the landlord’s agent and some of his henchmen. But here, in Dublin, there must reside such great numbers that could fill such a vast college as this. It stopped me short. I looked about me, at all the crowds that flowed past. I could not tell for certain between Catholic or otherwise. The thought also struck me: neither could they.
Nearby, I came across another mighty building. On its gate was a brass plate, shiny enough that I could see myself leaning forward: Bank of Ireland. So this was where they gather our monies before they take it all away.
People loitered before gleaming shop-windows, staring at lavish displays of merchandise, ladies’ dresses in many colours on shiny mannequins, large as folk. Men puffed cigars and pipes, with fine hats and thin canes, not the stout blackthorns of the rural counties. Every part of all the walls that was within reach was plastered with bills and notices. Such a strange world with so much to sell! I thought of my mother’s modest shop, its simple, almost severe, merchandise.
This Grafton Street was fairyland itself. There was a large sign, Jaeger, on a coloured glass above, and within the thick wide panes, jewels and dazzling silver. A little farther, on a sloping awning, simply the word Johnson proclaimed the name of another rich merchant. Fine carriages rolled by so silently that I marveled. Then I understood: Grafton Street was paved with blocks of pine! I thought of the sod thatches and the one-room cottages that dot our counties, whitewashed or weatherbeaten, floors packed with dirt, as were most homes and Mr. O’Flaherty’s school. And we Irish leave our footprints wherever we go, I thought wryly, for we live barefoot on dirt floors, and few can afford to lay boards upontheir floors. Here the roads—or at least one—might not be paved with gold, but it was paved with that precious wood itself, so no slush marred the dainty ladies who might, from the looks of some, not be as immaculate as their dresses.
There were more fat people here than I had seen from end to end in an entire lifetime in Sligo, toddling about, bellies like lambeg drums, bloated under fancy waistcoats. A fierce variety of moustaches were also to be seen, waxed, in many shades, coaxed up, combed or curled. No wonder, in this big whirling city, folks could so easily shake off such a matter as the Clontarf meeting, which had seemed so momentous to me. As I gawked at the fine shops, I felt broken into fragments. One part of me wanted to prise off pieces of flagstone and fling them into the grand shops full of dazzling goods and ladies and waistcoated men. Another wanted to own a fine shop—any shop—and count the money in the ringing till. Yet another piece of me wanted to sit down right there and weep after the great failure of Clontarf. But all the parts of me were footsore and wanted a drink. Even a tramp’s poteen would have been welcome, so bedraggled and low in spirit I felt, all alone in this billowing crowd.
Evening was descending and the crowds draining away, as if abandoning the city for the coming of night. I can
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